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“Well,” she said, looking down at her little man, still digging around in the soft sand near the water. “This is Olly. Olly, this is Mr. Finn. Say hi.”
“Hi, Misser Finn,” he said, not looking up from whatever was in his hand.
“Hi, Olly. What have you got there?”
“Issa bug!” he said, grinning madly in the way only little kids who have found absolute joy in something can.
“A bug?” I asked, trying to match his excitement.
“Olly, put that down,” Wendy said, seeming slightly embarrassed, as if there was any way to keep a curious child from being curious regardless of the company.
“What kind of bug is it?” I asked.
“Ant!” he said.
“That’s not an ant, Olly,” Wendy said sweetly. “That’s a beetle.”
“Beetle,” he repeated.
“A beetle, wow.” I took a few steps closer to him. He didn’t flinch or seem bothered, so I kept going until I was close enough to sit down at his level.
He began laughing and wiggling. “Tickos!”
“I bet it does tickle,” I said. “Do you like bugs?” He nodded enthusiastically. “Me too. Do you know where beetles come from?” He shook his head no, and I glanced up at Wendy, who was smiling.
“Is this bug?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. “I’ve never seen that kind of coloring before. You might want to put him down so he can go back home.”
“Okay,” Olly said and put the bug down. “Mommy, a rock!”
With that, he took off past me, just a few feet away to dig a rock out of a crevice. I laughed, and Wendy shook her head.
“Boys,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “We like rocks and bugs.”
“To be fair, so do I,” Wendy said. “I just don’t tend to touch the creepy-crawlies unless I know what they are. You never know which ones bite.”
“Fair point.”
“He took to you pretty fast,” she said. “He doesn’t always talk much to men. Do you have kids?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I’m actually kind of surprised myself. I don’t get many chances to interact with kids in a kitchen. Too many sharp things.”
She laughed, and I felt my body get warm. Her laugh was musical, dancing freely from her like waves.
“Has Olly ever fished before?” I asked. “I have a rod in my bag. I was thinking about doing some fishing once I built it.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “He’s not ready for that yet. Maybe I’m just not ready for how much he would probably love it.”
“Ahh, yeah,” I said, slightly disappointed.
“Misser Finn! A rock!” he said, holding out a flat, smooth rock to me.
“Wow, buddy,” I said. “This is cool. Do you have a rock collection?” He nodded, and I looked back at Wendy.
“I wouldn’t call it as much a collection as a horde,” she said. “He keeps them on his windowsill.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your sunbathing.”
“Not at all,” Wendy said, shaking her head. “We were just about done anyway. I need to get him back before suppertime early enough for him to get a tub.”
“Awww,” Olly said from around my knees.
“I know,” she said to him. “It’s the worst thing ever. Until you get in, then it’s the worst thing ever to get out.”
I chuckled.
“Sounds like me in the mornings. Last thing I want to do is get in the shower, but then once I’m in it, I never want to leave,” I said.
“Me too. I could spend all day in the shower,” she said, then kind of froze a little.
We both probably had the same thought, about the idea of being in the shower and how we probably shouldn’t be talking about it. I cleared my throat and changed subjects, engaging in the inane kind of small talk people do when they are avoiding talking about the thing they really want to. For me, it was about how I wanted to kiss her, right then and there. I couldn’t stop staring at her lips, wondering how they would feel pressed against mine. How her body would feel pressed against me.
Talk eventually turned to the lemon pie and how I was glad she enjoyed it. Soon, Olly yawned heavily, and I saw the conversation coming to its end far earlier than I wanted it to.
“We should get going,” she said. “Olly’s getting tired. He’s going to be like wrestling a crocodile to get clean before supper.”
I shook the thought of her lips out of my mind as best I could.
“Oh, yeah,” I agreed disappointedly. Then a thought ran through my mind like a buzzsaw, and the words started flying out of my mouth before I could think about the ramifications of them. “Why don’t you come by the diner on Monday? I’ll have a lemon pie, just for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, but the color was burning up the side of her neck and cheeks.
